


You Always were the Grownup [Sherlock]

by MediocreHuman



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, Drinking, Holmes Family, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, POV Mycroft Holmes, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:47:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15678321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediocreHuman/pseuds/MediocreHuman
Summary: Mycroft had always played the role of an older brother, whether it was appreciated or not. He was the mature one, the one who took care of his baby brother when nobody else could. No matter what happened he would always have a purpose. Protecting his brother because Sherlock will always need him. Right?He needs Sherlock to need him because if he doesn't, then what is the point of Mycroft Holmes?





	You Always were the Grownup [Sherlock]

**Author's Note:**

> I was re-watching the scene between Mycroft, Sherlock, and their parents and when the parents say Sherlock was grown up, well it just made me feel really bad for Mycroft

It stung. He’d never admit it but it had. Hearing those words that were so untrue being uttered from his parents' lips hurt. Despite that, he only let his mask slip once. He was the iceman after all. Though if he were truly the “Iceman” then he wouldn’t have expressed his grief at all. Alas, in a moment of weakness that he truly regretted, when he had thought his family was looking away he let his mask slip. It was for but a moment, just a split second, but it was enough to alert his baby brother to his internal struggles. It surprised Mycroft. Was that concern in his brother's eyes? It was even more of a surprise when Sherlock spoke up in his defense

“He did his best!”

“Then he’s very limited.”

He was aware of his brother's sharp gaze on him and if he hadn’t been feeling so torn, he might have been proud of how well he hid his flinch. Not even the detective had seen it. His parents rambled on for a bit but it was all a blur. He remembers Sherlock shooting him a worried glance before exiting but that was it.

“Sir? Are you okay?” It was Anthea.  _I really need to pay more attention to my surroundings_ he thought absentmindedly. I _s she talking to me?_

“Oh, I apologize for worrying you Anthea, of course, I’m alright.” his mask slipped right back into place. “Unfortunately this is all very time-consuming, I’m going to have to ask you to cancel any meetings I had today. Have them rescheduled to whenever’s convenient.” She gave a nod and left, leaving Mycroft to stew in his thoughts. Hours later and nothing had gotten done. Anthea had forced him to go home. Heaven forbid anyone saw Mycroft in this state. It would be seen as weakness and that was something the British government could not afford. But once home what was he supposed to do?

As he entered his house he absentmindedly kicked his shoes and socks off before heading towards the liquor cabinet. It was empty save for one bottle in the back. Oh. That's right. A while back, after a particularly hard mission, he decided to sit down and drown all his sorrows. That tradition continued and over time he started going through his liquor cabinet much faster than in the past. Eventually, he had to admit he had an issue when he felt withdrawal symptoms during a longer mission. After that, he went cold turkey. Lucky for him, Mycroft Holmes was nothing if not determined. He had hidden all his remaining liquor and he still managed to get sober despite the constant temptation. But enough of that. He wanted a drink. He needed a drink. He grabbed the bottle from the cabinet and collapsed onto his couch. His throat burned as he downed drink after drink in a vain attempt to run from his own mind. But nobody, not even the British Government can hide from themselves.

The memories followed him everywhere. Memories of a young boy following him around asking questions and staring at him adoringly. Memories of the boy playing around and breaking object after object over the years. He always took the blame. He cleaned up mess after mess, he raised his brother, he protected him. He was old beyond his years by the time he was 15. By 18 it was worse. He had thought nothing could feel worse than the pain of leaving his brother when he went off to college. He was wrong. Nothing could ever compare to the agony of seeing the pain and betrayal in his baby brother's eyes. Or seeing the anger and hate and that everlasting betrayal the next time he saw him. Oh, and you couldn’t forget all the drug dens and overdoses. He was the one who kept his brother afloat, who kept Sherlock on the fine line between boredom and insanity while sacrificing himself in the process. Everything fell on his shoulders.

Meanwhile, his brother grew up. He may have been called a freak and he may have been an outcast but he was happy. He got to be happy. Safe under the watchful eyes of his big brother. Well at least until Mycroft went to University. The ultimate betrayal. Mycroft doubted Sherlock would ever forgive him for that. He was okay with that. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven. But maybe...his brother really had been growing up, hadn’t he? After meeting John everything changed. His baby brother didn’t need him anymore. He was growing and changing as a person and he had John to take care of him. Unlike Mycroft who has nobody. He had never grown as a person. He was still the broken, flawed creature he would always be. Stuck forever in between the roles of “caring brother” and “heartless iceman”. He gave a harsh chuckle as he drowned the last of his bottle.

“You always were the grownup, Sherlock.”


End file.
